


Homestuck: A Novelle Experience

by psionicChaos



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 09:52:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psionicChaos/pseuds/psionicChaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A purely textual version of Homestuck, with very liberal use of foreshadowing, class/aspect-themed remarks, and phrasing originally used in the plot. All logs are copy letter for letter, and all credit goes to Andrew Hussie. This is a fan work made to let people approach Homestuck from a different direction, and help those already here enjoy. Criticism, advice, etc etc would be -greatly- appreciated. Thank you very much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homestuck: A Novelle Experience

**Author's Note:**

> Story is told from the point of view of an abstract character. Perhaps death from Problem Sleuth? Either way, its meant to be written as if its being told by an aged figure of omnipotence. One with a slight Doc Scratch air to him. Enjoy.

A young man stands in his bedroom. He is freshly groomed, relaxed, and overall content. His expression is curious, almost overly careful.  Today is his 13th birthday, and he has a fair bit to look forward to. Thirteen years ago, this young man was given the ever-sacred gift of life. Many have used the range and potential that life allows a person to great effect, great good and great evil. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. This will take a long time to explain. Let’s not take in more air than we can breathe.

                His name is John Egbert. Not much of note to say about him… yet. His interests are numbered and can be considered loosely connected, much like any boy seeking to make a place for himself in the world. There’s a passing ability to program inside him, though if only for the sake of understanding the language. His skill on the matter is dubious to even him. Terrible movies tend to make him smile, and he’s been known amongst his friends to get behind them passionately. Avoid mentioning Ghost Busters or Con Air when talking with him over pesterchum, else you’ll have a whole wall of fan-boying to read through. Most wouldn’t mind though. He has an odd fascination with the paranormal; something a snarky friend of his would rather appreciate. But that’s neither there nor here. He also desires to be a magician, and while the desire remains in a state of… less than professionalism, much like with his other interests, he has a habit of representing a huge amount of passion when discussing them.

                A small chest rests by his bedside, holding a number of valuable relics. He runs to his chest in excitement, moving the cake that sits on top of it off to his bed. It always struck him as somewhat amusing that his dad was capable of making so many cakes at a whim. His room was covered in them, and that’s not even the ones he ate in merry celebration already. Birthdays are always a fun time. He flings open the chest, a number of assorted relics donning its insides.

                He captchalogues a set of fake arms with his fetch modus, already having adapted the inventory method he intends to use for this mystic game into his daily life (although poorly). His sylladex contains one card full card, defined with an ‘x2 fake arm’ logo, and 3 more empty cards. For something that had usefulness in the real world, this game abstraction had a remarkable habit of rendering things in a very symbolic manner. That might come in handy, but it has its flaws. No maid will clean up for his antics, of which he can be sure there will be many.

                This isn’t an issue, for now. His sylladex contains a very small number of cards at the moment, and only one has been filled. He looks through the rest of the items in excitement. Something about all the toys, gimmicks, and pranky items make him smile. Smoke pellets, a pair of trick handcuffs, a stunt sword, a magical hat, a pair of beagle puss glasses (what prankster would be complete without them?), a copy of Harry Anderson’s “Wise Guy”, several blood capsules, and of course the greatest behemoth amongst them, a copy of Colonel Sassacre’s Daunting Text of Magical Frivolity and Practical Jappery. Regarding all of them in an interested manner, he smiles and takes the smoke pellets. He captchalogues them in front of his fake arms, 2 of his 4 sylladex cards now used.

                He remains blissfully unaware of the functions of his deck, but experimentation and proper reasoning have helped him determine that his fake arms are no longer accessible. They are under the smoke pellets, and the smoke pellets must be deployed before the fake arms can be reached. With the rather disastrous implication of taking out the smoke pellets, in other words wasting them and leaving his room needlessly covered in smoke, he decides against this endeavor. Imagine a typical deck of cards, the Queen of Spades on top with a Jack of Spades right below. In most card games the two of us could endeavor in, you would have to remove the Queen in order for the Jack to have the desired reign he wants. Alas, we won’t be drawing any time soon. For our purposes, that should be a vivid enough explanation for how this data structure works.

                At any rate, he continues meandering around with a medium he isn’t prepared to work with. Experience will allow him greater skill in that field, and perhaps not his own. It seems he hasn’t entirely gotten over his birthday joy. Such a cheerful young child, I almost feel terrible for the implications of the story I’m telling you. At least I would, if I had any sense of empathy. This is not a story that can be retold with that weakness. Fortunately for me. Unfortunately for you. He ogles a portrait of three dashing heroes, a purchase not even I would regret, let alone he.

                There’s a small note on his desk, written carefully and lovingly by his father. It smells of the gentlest of aftershaves and colognes. The kind people in his business, namely parenting, are renowned worldwide for using. The note says something like this:

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY SON.

I AM SO PROUD OF YOU.”

Its simplicity coupled with the delicacy with which it was produced all the more adds to the parental affection it intends to represent. Next to this lovely card is a rolled up poster, one our hero intends to put on the wall next to the three dashing gentlemen we saw earlier. For now, he simply picks it up and captchalogues it in his sylladex. The card gets placed atop the smoke pellets. Now even the Queen remains a mystery to us, in concept if not in its entirety.

                He has a small set of hammers and nails near his bed, right below his window. He has enough cards, namely one, to captchalogue the hammer. However, his deck is now full. He is not allowed more than 4 cards in his deck quite yet, and while that will be mediated in the future, it remains an issue for now. It occurs to him to make a curious expedition, and perhaps pick up the nails. Captchalogue them while still maintaining a full deck.

                He takes the nails and captchalogues them, sating both his need for nails and allowing the dominoes to fall into place to solve his curiosity. His fake arms go twirling, landing beside the chest in an inverted orientation, as if part of a fake mannequin holding its own fake elbows. John hesitates about the thought of taking anything else, lest smoke pellets get deployed.  It occurs to him that something productive in terms of actions is very much in order, but what teenager’s birthday would this be if a little light musing on ridiculous notions wasn’t performed?

 

                In this particular instance, his desk looks like an appealing surface to let out waste on whilst squawking like an imbecile. At least it does, for a brief moment. His mind is evolving rather rapidly, and notions he’d once been able to suppress fully are starting to peak through. The ID’s desires are slipping into what the conscious can perceive, if only for just long enough to be noticed before the Superego calms the ego and tells it not to worry. The desires are scary, concerning, and they make him shake his head. Much like most would at the thought of shitting on a flat wooden household surface.

                He returns to slightly more productive manipulations of his surroundings. To be expected, one can only have psychologically dubious musings for so long. He merges the top two cards; the nails now share a slot with the hammer. John uses the hammer and nails in unison with the card beneath them, namely the poster. This will allow him to free up two slots, and properly nail the poster to the wall, as was his original desire. Slightly overlapping the excellent Problem Sleuth poster is now a beautiful ‘Little Monsters’ poster. It’s glorious, and now wall-space has been devoted to a much better cause than inspiring pure shenaniganry.

                All this poster manipulation and placement reminded him of one of his personal favorite shitty movies; Con Air. He thinks fondly and passionately of one of his personal favorite moments in the epic tale. “Put the bunny back in the box.” He yells with an attempt at intimidation. “I said, put the bunny back in the box. Why couldn’t you put the bunny back in the box?” It truly wouldn’t be a great birthday if one didn’t recall the brilliant role manipulation by Nic Cage. It fills his heart with glee.

                Beside the Con Air poster is a similarly monochrome beauty overlapped by a calendar, holding the title ‘Deep Impact’. Ah, his thoughts wandered, Morgan Freeman’s performance in that film was nothing short of perfect. He perfectly represented an individual president handling a crisis in such a scenario; in other words, not very well. “Oceans rise. Cities fall. Hope survives.”  I question the third amongst those statements, but the catastrophe implied by the first two is by no means inaccurate. Then again, the film included a black president. Its accuracy can’t be all that reliable for the purpose of foreshadowing or plot dictating. But impeding apocalypse was certainly something that always fascinated John, and Deep Impact is no exception to that rule.

                The calendar above the poster is perhaps more relevant to touch on, though. It is the 13th of April, and as such the 13th is marked with a very positive face. Nearby, there’s a boxed ‘x’ over the 10th of April, the word “BETA!” right over. It’s been three days since the beta for SBURB, a game he’s been very much looking forward to playing with his friends, shipped. After how long he’s been waiting, the subject had been irritating him. It is best not to bring it up without good tidings. At least, that’s what his friends had learned.

                He takes a breather to look at the cakes around his room. Far too many, and he’d already eaten so much. So sick of cake already, John? Interesting. Give it a little time, and he’ll probably be craving its sweet lively embrace. Hunger, even vague, and maybe not even for food, will strike him dead in the heart. I’m getting too far ahead of myself, but don’t worry. That’s not something that will bother you, even when it comes.

                A continuous bleeping from his computer had been bothering him. He concludes that it’s likely just a friend pestering him, even more likely above that is the notion that it might be about SBURB. The pesterer shouldn’t be too much of a deal though. He’s a friend, most likely. Or some annoying trolls. Seriously, why do they bother you so often? Coming to the conclusion that, one way or another, he should check up on his pesterer, he pulls up to his computer, a wonderful little device he spends most of his time using, or at least being close to. His desktop is decorated with a few base programs, ‘System’, ‘Typheus’, ‘Pesterchum’, as well as a number of shitty executables made in ^CAKE and ~ATH. It also features a rather hilarious background that he is very proud of.

                As he expected, a Pesterchum window is flashing in his task bar. Someone is trying to get in touch with him. This time, they’ll be successful. He opens the flashing window, looking at his friends as he does so. Only one friend is online right now, namely turntechGodhead. tentacleTherapist and gardenGnostic are currently offline. He addresses the message sent to him, expecting one of his usual conversations with his badass friend.

            “ **\-- turntechGodhead** **[TG]** **began pestering ectoBiologist** **[EB]** **at 16:13 --  
  
** **TG: hey so what sort of insane loot did you rake in today** **  
****EB: i got a little monsters poster, it's so awesome. i'm going to watch it again today, the applejuice scene was so funny.** **  
****TG: oh hell that is such a coincidence i just found an unopened container of apple juice in my closet it is like fucking christmas up in here** **  
****EB: ok thats fine, but i just have one question and then a word of caution. have you ever seen a movie called little monsters starring howie mandel and fred savage?** **  
****TG: but** **  
** **TG: the seal on the bottle is unbroken** **  
****TG: are you suggesting someone put piss in my apple juice at the factory** **  
****EB: all im saying is don't you think monster howie mandel has the power to do something as simple as reseal a bottle?** **  
****EB: try using your brain numbnuts.** **  
****TG: why did the fat kid or whoever drank it know what piss tasted like** **  
****TG: i mean his reaction was nigh instantaneous** **  
****EB: it was the 15th day in a row howie mandel peed in his juice.** **  
****TG: ok i can accept that** **  
** **TG: monster B-list celebrity douchebags are cunning and persistent pranksters** **  
****TG: also fred savage has a really punchable face** **  
****TG: but who cares about this lets stop talking about it** **  
****TG: did you get the beta yet** **  
****EB: no.** **  
****EB: did you?** **  
****TG: man i got two copies already** **  
****TG: but i dont care im not going to play it or anything the game sounds boring** **  
****TG: did you see how it got slammed in game bro????** **  
****EB: game bro is a joke and we both know it.** **  
****TG: yeah** **  
****TG: why dont you go check your mail maybe its there now** **  
****EB: alright.**

Their conversation runs its course.  John details to his closest bro, Dave, what he’d gotten for his birthday, they have one of their usual back-and-forths on the subject of ironic tendancies and not so ironic film appreciation, from Dave and John respectively. None of this is out of the ordinary for those two. Like clockwork, those two discuss what they need to and move on. In this case, John has been inspired to check if the mail has arrived.

                John stands near his window, looking out onto his lawn. The grass is acutely cut, a small pathway of stone leading to his driveway cutting through the green blades. A tree stands tall, torn from years of standing and serving to John’s lively youth. A tire hangs from the tree, tied in place with the tested perfection that the convicted would feel around their neck, dangling from the tree either way as part of a very much childish enjoyment. It sways gently in the breeze.

                In the field of grass, near the sidewalk and beside the driveway, stands a quant mailbox. It’s a suburbian town, and so mailboxes receive plenty of nourishment. The semaphore stands tall, a wonderful indication of the potential contents inside the delivery box. It is not much unlike John to order things, cause a change in the purpose of the items around him. This delivery is no exception. Sburb is already here! Might go the thought, had it not been so many days late already.

                John would have ran down excitedly, had he not seen the white serviceable car pull up to the driveway. Dad has returned, with groceries of interest probably in hand already. It would be a fool’s errand to try to get to the mailbox now. He’ll attain the information and products first, and retrieving them will require either deep shenanigans or a typical parent-child STRIFE. He discards the thought of going downward towards the package, and merely decides to stay put. No need to have Dad monopolize hours of his time.

                The thought brought him frustration. He’s suspended in the walls of his home endlessly, unable to venture and explore as he’d wish. His breath does not blow the world in as many directions as he would like. Not yet, anyway. It makes him feel trapped in his perpetual domain. Home stuck, if you will. But such disturbing realizations do little to stop one’s growth. Nor does it stop time’s endless exploitation. And again like clockwork, Dave requires an audience with John. At the moment, John refuses. It’s too much of a hassle to deal with so much of Dave in one day, so John merely explores in other manners, perhaps to find solace in the bonds he knows far too well.

                He explores his CD rack, finding a variety of games he’s played and enjoyed many times. Between Problem Sleuth, Bard Quest, and Jailbreak, as well as a multitude of other wonderful games, a lifetime’s adventure is truly at one’s fingertips. And John has had countless hours spent appreciating these marvelous titles. But with the anticipation building over Sburb, what with its potential proximity, something marvelously more distracting might be necessary. For now, John takes a quick indulgent look at Colonel Sassacre’s Daunting Text of Magical Frivolity and Practical Jappery. It is a monstrously large book. You could kill a cat if you dropped it! Unfortunately, indulging in its bottomless pits of wisdom will require captchaloguing it, and throwing out one of most lynchpin artifacts of his four does not seem like a wise move, what with its repercussions to the foundation and breathability of the house. He ventures to delay that for just a while longer. Still, there is free space in the inventory, 2 unexplored pits in particular. One of which John accidentally fills with his fake arms once again.

                Between troubling boredom, tiring bonds, and endless shenaniganry with one’s inventory, John decides to represent his anger on his pesterchum. He changes his pesterchum status to ‘bully’. These moments of desperation don’t warrant an outright change to ‘Rancorous’, but at the same time feel significant enough to show some form of representation. While he’s there, he gives the message a look. Strider, as usual, on beat.

**TG: is it there** **  
** **TG: plz say yes** **  
** **TG: maybe you can play with TT shes been pestering me all day about it** **  
** **TG: shes mackin on me so hard all the time i start to feel embarrassed for her** **  
** **TG: i mean not that i can blame her or anything** **  
** **EB: yes, it is understandable because you are really attractive. i am attracted to you.** **  
** **TG: thank you** **  
** **EB: jk haha.** **  
** **EB: no, i don't have it yet.** **  
** **EB: my dad has the mail and i guess i have to go get it from him and see if it's there.** **  
** **EB: and i've been busy spending all afternoon shitting around with my stupid sylladex.** **  
** **EB: it's so frustrating.** **  
** **TG: whats your modus** **  
** **EB: what?** **  
** **TG: how do you retrieve artifacts from it** **  
** **EB: oh. like one at a time i guess. and if i put too much in, something falls out.** **  
** **TG: stack?? hahahahahaha** **  
** **EB: what is yours?** **  
** **TG: hash map** **  
** **TG: my bro taught me a few tricks he basically knows everything and is awesome** **  
** **EB: what the hell is that?** **  
** **TG: you should probably brush up on your data structures** **  
** **EB: i guess.** **  
** **TG: did you at least allocate your strife specibus** **  
** **EB: no.** **  
** **TG: it could free up a card for you** **  
** **TG: plus let you attack stuff whenever things get too hot to handle** **  
** **TG: which is never** **  
** **TG: what have you got** **  
** **EB: well, i've got a hammer but it's trapped under some arms.** **  
** **TG: wow you really suck at this dont you** **  
** **TG: just get rid of the arms and then allocate the hammer to the specibus** **  
** **EB: how?** **  
** **TG: i dont know just use the arms on any old thing and see if it works**

Dave flaunts his natural attractiveness easily, something that would normally be rather irritating to young Rose Lalonde is not at all disruptive to John. He plays along before promptly allowing the subject to change. Dave suggests that John set his hammer as his primary weapon in as douche-baggy of a manner as possible. He really is an insufferable prick.

John takes Dave’s advice and puts the arms away, in as sassacreian of a manner as possible. He sticks them in the cake on his bed. The formation leads to more than a little merriment. A defaced or, well, rearmed cake amongst many stands proudly on his bed.  Back onto business, John selected ‘Hammer’ from his Kind Abstratus card. Hammerkind seems perfect. He set his Hammer card into the empty card in his strife deck.  An extra card is now open in his deck, and his sylladex now only contains his quant smoke pellets. With all this in mind, John wraps up his business and reports back to Dave on the matter.

**EB: ok, i did it.** **  
** **TG: hammerkind?** **  
** **EB: yeah.** **  
** **TG: ok that will be the permanent allocation for your specibus** **  
** **TG: i guess i should have mentioned that** **  
** **EB: uh...** **  
** **TG: hope you like hammers dude!** **  
** **EB: yeah, that's fine i guess. i can't imagine it's going to be all that relevant.**

                And so John’s path down hammerhood, accidentally or otherwise, has been ensured. The breeze will flow through the power of his swing. Heads knocked. Enemies murdered. Worlds remade. Oh who am I kidding? It’s just a simple hammer choice, is it not? At any rate, space has been attained in his deck, and acquiring the big book now would by no means be a waste of the new space. The cards serve a wonderful practicality here, in that the book is far too large to carry easily. The convenience of practical japery can never be denied, and must always be enhanced.

                Dave and John did a fair bit of research on the game before even considering it. Well, they at least looking around for research to do. It is a beta after all. Gamebro wrote an article on the subject, as incompetently as they tend to. Having not actually played the game (no simple task) he didn’t have much of value to say. But he spoke anyway. How unnerving. John had one such article and captchalogues it. He might need something that burns easily. Along with it, he grabs his frivolous magical hat, all cards expended. With some creative work, he managed to fit together the Beagle Puss glasses, the hat and eyewear creating an impenetrable disguise.

                John equips the dis- wait, who? Who’re we looking at? And who’s this John of which you speak? There’s no John here! Just a man in a rather frivolous hat! Haa haa hee hee hoo hoo. Sillyness aside, this disguise will do little to trump the keen eye of a father. Or… anyone really.  But exploration is worth it. Disguise at the ready, John leaves the room, preparing to get the game as sneakily as possible.

 

 

 

 

 

 

               

                


End file.
